Branch

There’s a branch
Of a tree
That I see
From my window

Horizontal
A thick pencil mark
Across a tiny rectangle
Of sky

And on it sits a bird
Sometimes a crow
Black and sinister
Sometimes a pigeon

The pigeon is fat
Probably the only fat bird
On the estate
With its own private store
Of peanuts

Sometimes I see the pigeon
Sometimes the crow

As I lie in bed
In the morning half awake
Before I open my eyes
I sometimes wonder

Will I see the pigeon
Will I see the crow
Or will the branch be empty?